


Teachable Moment

by duckbunny



Series: Set and Turn Single [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 18:05:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16858804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duckbunny/pseuds/duckbunny
Summary: "Caleb, you're up.""Am I within thirty feet of that thing?""Oh yeah, easily. I'd say twenty feet to target the centre of it, fifteen feet for the supporting arch.""Ja, okay, so, I fumble in my pocket for a bit of copper wire and I cast Message, and I say, "Fjord, look after them." And then as a bonus action, I cast it again, and I say "Nott, take care." And I step into the portal."





	Teachable Moment

The portal is a nauseating swirl of blue in the corner of Fjord's eye. It sucks at his gaze, like a loose tooth sucks at a tongue. It lights the dungeon in a grainy dimness, everything grey and off-balance, warm torchlight bleaching out in the glow. Fjord can't spare the time to look at it; there's a creature of ice and glimmer advancing on him, two more flanking Beau, and his first blast of magic slid right off its frost-white skin. He is expecting a fireball, against these creatures of ice, he is expecting Caleb to mutter something and the room to flare up in sudden heat, but the murmur in his ear doesn't track and he doesn't understand what Caleb has done until their attackers fade out into nothing. His falchion clangs harmlessly against a stone pillar.

"What?" Nott says, her crossbow still loaded and clutched in her hands. "Caleb, no! Come back here! Caleb!"

 

"Alright, Caleb, as you step into the portal you feel the world dissolving around you and suddenly you are somewhere else. It looks to be a big, open room of polished marble with a robed figure standing in the centre. But you don't have time to notice more than that. because as you come to rest you feel a magical force closing instantly around you, as if your arrival had set off some kind of trap. Make a wisdom saving throw."

"Nine."

"Nine?"

"Ja."

"Oh, buddy. That fails."

"Of course."

"So as the magic folds in around you, you can feel control of your body slipping away. It's almost seductive, the way it feels, like it's inviting you to relax, and let go, and just let someone else carry your problems for a while, and although you feel there must be a reason to resist, right now, you can't think of a single one. And as you relax, you remember. You've felt this spell before. And the robed figure standing in front of you, smiling, you've seen him before too. This whole scenario is horribly familiar. But we'll get back to this in a second. The rest of you, what are you doing?"

 

There isn't time to think about it. The monsters have faded and the light of the portal is dimming, darkening, and maybe Fjord isn't a wizard but he knows what a failing spell looks like. He shouts, "Get into it, now!" too late to be of use to Nott, who has already charged into the shimmering rift, her crossbow held out in front of her like a battering ram. Caduceus is peering around an archway, one hand raised ready to attack someone and finding no targets. Fjord reaches him in three steps and grabs his wrist. Deuce follows his lead, thank all the gods, or he'd never be able to drag him. He sees the blue light part around Jester, sees Beau's robes merge into it, a sickening impression of her bare arms and head moving without anything between them, and then he's falling into it himself.

  

"I'm going to need everyone except Caleb to make a dexterity saving throw."

"Oh, shit."

  

There is a moment like drowning before his feet hit stone again. Polished marble, smooth as ice. He's off balance, his boots skidding on the floor, and only Deuce stops him from pitching onto his ass. He's had a lot of practice lately at getting a quick feel for his surroundings, and so Fjord takes in the gently domed ceiling, the fine carvings on the walls, the ritual circle painted on the floor in sticky dark red, but his attention is all on the man facing them. Elderly, in his seventies at least, with a strange dry dust shedding from his joints, like overworked stone rasping itself to nothing. Elegant robes in Empire colours. Archmage Trent Ikithon, with Caleb collapsed - no, Caleb _kneeling_ at his feet.

Jester, unlucky in her landing, is still picking herself up off the floor. She glares at Ikithon. "He doesn't belong to _you_." 

Ikithon smiles. "Of course not, dear." He waves his hand, fingers tracing a complex sigil through the air, and a gust of wind slams them all against the wall, and holds them there, pillowy bands of air pinning them to the stone, beneath the inert arch of the portal. Ikithon is still smiling, in his thin and mirthless way.

He glances down at Caleb. He doesn't _say_ anything, and Caleb's expression doesn't change, but he strips off his beloved ragged coat anyway, and drops it on the floor at arm's length. Fjord kicks against the wall, trying to get traction. All of Caleb's spell components are in that coat. Without it, he might as well be naked. The patches on his shirt reveal just how bad a job Fjord's done of protecting him.

Ikithon frowns. His voice, when he speaks, is laden with disgust. "Really, Widogast? Did you learn nothing from me? Bring out that ridiculous animal."

 

"I get to make a wisdom save now, ja?"

"Every time you take an _action_ , you get to save. So... you know what, you didn't get one for the coat, I'm gonna let you make one for Frumpkin. It's not technically casting a spell, I think, but I'll let you have it."

"Do not fuck me here - okay. Okay, well, that is a six."

"No, Frumpkin!"

"He'll come back, guys. He's a familiar. He's not a real cat."

"He _is_ a real cat, and since Caleb has failed his saving throw he raises his left hand, still looking blankly straight ahead, and snaps his fingers, and there is Frumpkin on the floor, looking at him."

 

Ikithon blasts the cat into fiery shreds. The smoke lingers in the air a moment, wisping around the space where Frumpkin vanished. Fjord's stomach clenches at the smell, and at Caleb's face, dully resigned, his gazed fixed at a point on the floor six feet ahead. This has to be a spell of some kind. Even if Caleb had turned, even if that wasn't an absurd idea, he wouldn't just give up Frumpkin without blinking. So this is a spell, and spells can be broken. Somehow.

Jester is still crying out for Frumpkin, for Caleb to wake up, snap out of it, we're your _friends_ , Caleb, we're here to _help_ you. Fjord concentrates on the ghostly bars pinning him against the marble. There must be a way to slip between them, or force them back. He just has to find it.

"I think a lesson is in order. A reminder of what you can rely on. Which of these is your favourite, Widogast?"

Caleb doesn't reply, but Ikithon turns to him anyway, his mouth twisting in contempt. "Really? Good gods, you are a disgrace." He looks over the Nein, weighing them up. "That one will do."

 

"There's a shift in the bonds of air holding you all back, a tiny change in the wind. It's not enough to set you free, but you all feel the difference. Beau, you in particular can feel it, as it shifts from this wide cushion holding you back, to a loop that pulls you forward, dragging your feet across the floor. Make a strength saving throw for me.”

“Just straight-up strength? Not athletics?”

“No, just strength for this one.”

“Okay okay okay. Seventeen.”

“That… just barely fails. So, as you’re being dragged over the polished marble, trying to dig in your heels and get some traction, one of the guards that had been standing by the far door pulls a lever and lowers a pair of black iron manacles from the ceiling. You fight with the air but you can’t get any purchase on it, and he’s grabbing you by the elbows so you can’t bend them properly and he manages to wrestle you into the manacles just as you get free of the binding spell.”

“So I’m just dangling there? Like, from my wrists?”

“Right. Actually, Beau’s not too tall so you probably are dangling, just kinda balancing on your tip-toes. The iron against your wrists is icy cold.”

“Can I kick the guard?”

“You can certainly try, on your turn.”

“Fuck. Okay. And Beau says “Fuck”, as well.”

 

Fjord throws his weight against his invisible bonds. Ikithon has a cold little smile, the first expression that’s reached his eyes, as he reaches up to pat Beau’s cheek.

“Nothing personal, my dear,” he says. “I need a demonstration.”

His hands close on her shoulders.

Beau screams.

Nott and Jester are shouting in unison – _Caleb Caleb Caleb_ – and Fjord can barely hear anything over Beau’s shriek of pain but he does, somehow, catch what Caduceus is saying. He calls the falchion into his hand, familiar weight snapping forward, and blasts the guard still standing by the door. The one with the look of concentration that Fjord hadn’t noticed, who is staring at the four of them still pinned against the wall.

The streak of light smacks into the guard’s chest. The magic gives way.

 

“Nott, you’re up.”

“I fire my crossbow at the guard!”

“The one here next to Beau?”

“No, the one by the door. I don’t want him casting any more magic at my friends

“What? Ikithon’s just shredding me and that’s not a problem? Okay, that’s cool, that’s fine, I’m not unconscious yet.”

“You’ll be fine. We’ll get to you next.”

“Roll that attack for me?”

 

Nott’s little crossbow comes up level before Fjord can recover his footing. The bolt darts past the whole horrifying tableau and into the guard’s stomach. He folds around it, clutching at his wound, and Nott follows her shot, closing the distance, ducking behind a pillar to reload. The second guard glances between her and Fjord, uncertain who to chase, before he settles on Fjord and begins running. His feet smear the red pattern on the floor. Ikithon hisses at him to be careful.

Jester steps forward to meet the guard. “You shouldn’t have taken our friend!”

Her absurd lollipop swings from nowhere towards his head. The guard manages to duck that swing, but he straightens up to a blur of duplicates, almost impossible for him to hit.

The shouting mixes with the skittering of Deuce’s beetles.

Ikithon sighs. He waves one dusty hand at Caleb. “Stop them.” The other hand cradles a ball of crackling lightning and thrusts it into Beau’s chest.

 

“Holy shit, you guys. Holy shit.”

“Is Beau still up?”

“This is not going great for her. Not – not great.”

“Is she dead?”

“She’s still up. She’s in pretty bad shape.”

“Well, your friends went for the other guys first...”

“I know. I know. It’s fine. It’s all fine here.”

“Liam, I need a wisdom save.”

“Ja, okay… uh, nineteen.”

“That’s a success! So as Ikithon gives you that order to stop your friends, so he can keep hurting Beau, for some reason that’s what pushes you over the edge and you manage to slip out from under the effect. The soothing blanket over your thoughts melts away. You can feel control of your limbs returning to you. And it’s your turn, so… what are you doing?”

“I am on the floor at his feet and everyone is screaming and I don’t have any of my components, I don’t have _anything_ , and I am so, so frightened for Beau so I light my hands on fire and I reach up and grapple Ikithon around the legs, trying to reach skin.”

 

Ikithon startles under Caleb’s sudden attack. He slaps at Caleb’s arms, trying to avoid the flame licking out between his fingers, but his robes have taken the brunt and Ikithon himself doesn’t seem badly hurt. His eyes narrow at Beau, clearly intending to finish the job, his _lesson_ for Caleb.

Beau, panting for breath, scorched halfway up her neck, swings up in her chains and kicks him with both feet.

Ikithon staggers. Caleb is a dead weight around his legs, keeping him from retreating. Beau lands another kick to his ribs, cracking something inside him.

Fjord is dizzy with relief he doesn’t have time for. The wizard on guard is staring at him across the room, his hands moving precisely through the air, and Fjord tries to dodge the bolt of energy and doesn’t quite manage it. He answers with another blast from his sword hilt and moves towards Jester, trying to help her flank the other guard. Nott’s second shot takes the wizard down.

The swordsman is swinging wildly at Jester’s flickering images. He manages to land a hit, cutting into her sideways, but Jester barely flinches. She calls on the Traveller with the speed of long practice and the guard is suddenly bleeding through his white shirt, gasping in shock.

Caduceus murmurs something behind them and Beau shudders in her chains, her wounds closing up as if a week had passed all at once.

 

“Thanks, Caduceus. I needed that.”

“Any time.”

“You’ve still got your movement, if you want to use it. The guard there isn’t close enough to get an attack of opportunity.”

“He’s not? Oh, then yeah, I’ll move over here towards Nott and figure out what I can do to that very bad wizard. Just there, that’s great. And that’s my turn.”

 

Ikithon lifts his hands. He looks down at Caleb, his lip curling. “Foolish boy.”

Fire washes through the room. It stripes pain along Fjord’s skin, between the pieces of his armour. He glimpses Caduceus behind the pillar with Nott, trying to shield her from the racing flames. Ikithon’s own guard drops to the floor. But Fjord’s attention is all for Caleb and Beau, caught in the centre of the firestorm.

When it fades, Beau is hanging limp in the manacles. Caleb is still conscious, still clinging to Ikithon, but his shirt is smouldering ruins where Ikithon’s burning shell touched it, and his hands -

Caleb barely reacts to the blast. He only scrabbles at Ikithon’s robes, leaving bloody handprints on the cloth, until he can muster the strength to bring fire back to his hands. Ikithon grits his teeth, twisting away from Caleb’s spell, the flame finally reaching him. He’s too distracted to notice that Beau isn’t dead.

She kicks him, both feet together, in the jaw.

Ikithon trips over Caleb’s body. He lands on his back, already trying to roll out of the way. Fjord steps over the smoking body of the guard, and puts his falchion through Ikithon’s heart.

 

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god.”

“Did we do it? Are we all alive? Is Caleb alive?”

“Are you okay, Nott?”

“Caleb?”

 

Fjord has to drag the sword back out. The blood is oozing slowly out of Ikithon’s body, winding into the painted sigils in sickening coils. Caleb is hunched over, his breath rasping, his hands still burning craters into Ikithon’s belly and thigh.

“Caleb,” Fjord says quietly, “hey, look at me. Look at me now, it’s alright. It’s all over.”

There’s no response. The stench is appalling, blood and burnt wool and smoky roasted meat. Caleb’s eyes are wide and fixed on the body.

He’s trembling.

Fjord steels himself. That last blast was bad enough. This will be worse. He reaches out anyway, and grips Caleb’s forearms, lifting his hands away from Ikithon. The flame licks out against his skin.

“It’s alright,” he says again. “We did it. You can let the spell go now. He’s dead.”

Caleb doesn’t look away from Ikithon. Maybe he can’t. But he manages to take a deeper breath, and the fire in his hands goes out.

Parts of them are black with char.

“Ah, that’s not good,” Caduceus says, looming over them. “That’s not right.” A gentler warmth spreads through Fjord, healing up the painful new burns. He watches Caleb’s hands relax into their proper shape, pink skin spreading into the damaged places.

“Fuck,” Beau says.

“Hold still.”

“I _am_ holding still, Nott, hurry up.”

Fjord looks up to see Nott balanced on Jester’s shoulders, working on the manacles with her lockpicks. She says primly, “I’m going as fast as I can. Does anyone know how to get out of here?”

Caduceus sighs. “The way we came, I think. I don’t think we’ll be allowed to use the front door.”

“There’s going to be more guards any minute,” Jester agrees.

“Then we need to get that portal open.”

Fjord is wondering _how_ when Caduceus folds himself up into a crouch next to him, looking at Caleb’s silent form.

 

“Can I get a sense of what’s going on here?”

“Roll an insight check for me.”

 

“I don’t like doing this,” Caduceus says in his low rumble, “but I think I have to.” He reaches out and squeezes Caleb’s shoulder.

Caleb’s breathing eases, losing its ragged edge. He looks up slowly, his face going slack.

Caduceus doesn’t smile. “Get back to work,” he says. “We’re not done yet. You’ve got a portal to open.”

Fjord bites back an argument – let him _rest_ , for pity’s sake – because Caleb is looking around himself, unnaturally calm, not speaking, but visibly working it out. He lets Caleb take his wrist and set his hand against the sticky markings on the floor, cooked to black by the fighting and mixed with Ikithon’s fresh blood. He says, “Over here, I think we need to be touching this thing. It’s like a sacrificial circle or something,” when Beau finally hits the ground, and pulls her down to press her palms to the sigil. Caleb’s lips are moving silently.

For a long moment, nothing happens. Then, “Oh,” Caduceus says, and joins them. “I guess the beetles helped a bit.”

The arcane patterns shiver under their hands. Something magical tugs at Fjord for a moment and he swallows disgust. The markings looks like vines, twining around the corpse still slowly bleeding into them. Blue light fills the portal archway.

Caleb rises and brushes his hands on what’s left of his shirt. He walks to the portal not quite in a straight line and stops, shoulders hunched.

“Yeah, I guess that help is wearing off,” Caduceus says. “Could you look after him? I think I need to finish something here.”

 

“I want to wait until the others have got Caleb through the arch, because I don’t want him to have to see this, and then I’m going to cast Decompose on Ikithon’s body.”

“Well, I’m going to search the body for booty, first, and then I’m going to wait so I can go through the portal last.”

 

“No, you go on ahead, it’s fine.”

“I have something to finish here too, Mr Clay.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“I’m going to wait until everyone is safely away from the portal, and then I’m going to drop a bomb on this side with a ten-second fuse, and run as fast as I can.”

 

“Perfect. I’m going to say you don’t need to roll for that, you’re pretty good with bombs and you had that one already put together. Caduceus goes through, his hair just brushing the top of the archway, and you light the fuse on your bomb – it smells like a bomb in here already, you’re not sure anyone will be able to untangle the battle from this wreckage – and run right through the portal and forty feet on the other side before you hear this very muffled “whumph”. As you look back you can see the archway on this side, in the dungeon, is crumbling from the top down and the portal is _gone_.”

“Is the roof going to stay up?”

“You can see the stone wall behind where the portal used to be and it looks pretty solid, so you don’t think you’ve brought the roof down. It looks okay. It looks like it’s just cosmetic damage on this side.”

“Good. That’s good. I’m going to just join the others.”

“You can do that. You make your way up to your little band of adventurers, all of you injured and slightly charred and exhausted, having done not what you came down here to do but something you think was significant nonetheless. And that’s where we’re going to leave it for tonight.”

“Oh, my God.”

“Yeah.”

“ _That_ happened.”

“It sure did.”

“You know we’re just going to leave Caleb catatonic for a week now.”

“It was a big day for him. He’ll feel better later.”

“Oh, did I get anything good off the body?”

“Yeah, you got some stuff. I’ll give it to you next week.”

“Cool.”

“That was maybe the worst fight Beau’s ever had. She’s not a fan of wizards now. Not a fan.”

“All wizards are _terrible_ , ja?”


End file.
